Born Not Made
by Your Faithful Servant
Summary: Talon is not simply a title or something the Court can create- every lifetime, a Talon is reincarnated with incredible powers, unlocked on their 14th birthday. Dick Grayson was adopted by Bruce Wayne at eight years old, and becomes Robin a year later. At thirteen, his life isn't normal, but he's more or less happy. His 14th birthday changes everything. (T for language and violence)
1. Prologue Part I: Rebirth

Like clockwork, every generation, one was born.

Instruments of the Court, hidden figures shrouded in mystery. In history, at the turning points of falling empires, at executions of overthrown kings and queens, the most influential moments in history, they were always there. A person of extraordinary, inherited ability, someone not even considered human from even birth. What existed first, the Court or the Talon? The answer had been lost to the past.

But two things were always true: the Talon was always the first born child of one of the court, and always born shortly after the death of the previous Talon. Always the firstborn of the Court, as a sacrifice of its members as nothing comes free. Always after the previous Talon's demise, as there could only be one.

It was an honor, they always said, an honor to have created a Talon.

(Being a Talon was an honor.)

Mary was never fooled. Talons were taken from their families at age fourteen. Talons did not have spouses or children. Talons lost their names upon indoctrination. Talons were never allowed to do anything unless ordered. Until death, their sole purpose was to serve.

(Being a Talon was a death sentence.)

* * *

"It's a boy!"

"A boy, Mary, a boy!" John squeezed his wife's hand, and she smiled tiredly. The labor had been long and painful. Giving birth in a circus tent wasn't… ideal, but the baby hadn't been due for another two weeks.

Something in Mary's stomach sunk at the thought. She had thought it was safe-

Carefully wrapped in one of the other performer's old baby blankets (they always loved children), her newborn son was placed in her arms. She glanced up to see John's gentle smile, and he kissed her forehead. Love swelled in her chest.

"He's so small," she commented quietly to him, almost soberly. "Could he really be…?" It was difficult to imagine the tiny, squished, almost alien being in her arms as a human, as well… her child. Mothers always talked about how they felt such love for their children instantly, how they vowed to protect their babies with their lives minutes after their birth. Unconditional, overpowering love.

Mary felt none of that now.

"If he is," John whispered the moment the midwife left. "It's our duty-"

"Yes," Mary interrupts, taking a shaky breath. "Now go. Tell them he was early. That he- that he made the deadline."

Somehow, being alone with the baby is harder.

"Richard." She tries out the name. "Richard Grayson." Newborn babies aren't supposed to be able to see very far, but she swears those bright blue eyes blink at her, questioningly. The intelligence she saw there was... Unnerving.

"...You just _had_ to be early, didn't you?" she accused, venom dripping from her tone as her arms tightened. The staring eyes just make her even angrier. "You were almost home free. A couple more days, and you would have been safe. Didn't you know that?" Silence.

His eyes flash golden, and so very suddenly she hates him.

"Oh my _god_."

Inside, she had always known.

Her child was destined to be a murderer, assassin. A sheep in wolf's clothing, a power masquerading as human. But he still lives and breathes and smiles, and she will teach him to walk and talk. He will be her child. But he will never be hers. She will lose him before he can even drive a car. It isn't his fault, but she loathes him. She wants to hit him, shake him, but instead she just freezes.

Suddenly, the spell is broken, and he begins to cry. Scream.

Her arms can move again.

"God. You're just a baby, my son and I-" A hysterical giggle leaves her lips. I wanted to hurt you. I was going to. "You must be hungry, hm? Might as well put these enlarged things to use." She brought her son to her breast, trying not to wince.

"You're… you're not the Talon. You can't be," she soothes. To reassure herself, she looks down, seeing John's blue eyes half lidded in contentment. _I must have imagined it._

Nevertheless, she knew she could never tell anyone what she had seen.

* * *

 _It's too young to tell, usually,_ they tell her and the other new parents after two years. _But if any signs of your child being Talon are seen, it is to be reported immediately. The sooner his or her identity is known, the better._

She almost wanted to laugh at the irony of it, laugh because she's known his identity the moment he was put in her arms. But she stayed quiet, nodded on cue, looked down when addressed. The part she had to play isn't the easiest, but it's one she's had a lot of practice doing. It's better than rebelling outwardly, better than signing her own death warrant, better than at the very least getting her taken away from her child and taken fully by the Court.

There were three of them, three potentials, all born within two weeks of each other. Lukas, the first of the three born and the other boy, was small and timid (not good qualities in a Talon), but Katherine, the second and only girl of the three, was headstrong and determined, and aggressive at times. She knows the Court hopes that it's her. It would be easy. Luckily, they are too focused on her to pay much attention to the last child born, within a day of the deadline. Her own son was more curious than anything, curious about everything and unconcerned with getting hurt. He had the scraped knees and scratched palms to prove it, though he never cried. Just stared at his mother as she wiped the blood from his fingers.

It unnerved Mary.

She loved Richard. She really did. He was her son, after all, and was the sweetest, happiest little child. He'd even been the easiest baby, rarely fussy or angry. He had John's baby blue eyes and her own slightly curling, entirely untamable black hair, and their shared dark skin. Undeniably her child, though she knew he did not entirely belong to her. She was reminded at times, when in strong feelings of happiness or anger his eyes would flash golden for just a moment, or when he'd act entirely out of character for a child.

In the moments, the thoughts of smothering him in his sleep or letting him slip under the water during a bath would return, but she never acted on them. She almost did at times, but at the last minute, she'd stop herself.

 _What kind of monster wanted to murder her own defenseless child?_ she'd wonder. He was barely a toddler, friendly, and well-behaved, and still, she got those temptations. Hell, it'd even taken her over a month to actually love and care for the little parasite suckling at her breasts and sanity. Only the moral implications and love for her husband motivated her to keep the poor thing alive at first, not counting her suppressing the bursts of sudden, impulsive need to murder him. Sure, his future held nothing but death and pain, but that wasn't his fault… He certainly didn't deserve to die because of it.

Does she want to protect him from the reality of what he was going to face, kill him mercifully before he was broken? Or did she simply hate him, hate him for being another tie to the organization she despised, another thing she'd have taken from her? Mary didn't know, and she doubted she ever would. For that, she'd need to explore those feelings, and she didn't trust herself enough to wallow for long in them. Richard would be too much in danger. No, this burden was hers alone to carry; those thoughts and wonderings, and her son's own identity.

God, she was just lucky John didn't know.

Their marriage had been arranged, as many were in those involved in the Court of Owls. Mary's parents had been involved members before her birth, and she had grown subtly indoctrinated, as all the other children had. It was tradition to join at fourteen, and at her parent's wishes, she did. Unfortunately, at that age, she had not been good at hiding her doubts, and at sixteen, was married to the completely loyal, seventeen-year-old John Grayson in hopes of 'saving' her. It was a common practice. As Talon was always born again and again, she faked her own rebirth. Denouncing her 'rebellion' and 'sin', she was opened with open arms by the members, and her husband.

If she'd been smart, maybe she would have left. From the beginning she hated it all. But she was young and scared, and in the end, she has grown to love John with her entire being. He was incapable of having any thoughts against the Court, and she could not leave him just like that. Despite her feelings, this was all she'd ever known.

Her only freedom came from their circus act.

For a moment she could forget her problems, forget the darkness always lingering at the back of her mind, as she _flies_. It's nothing but her, John, and the air, and there was nothing more thrilling than their heart beating together in unison, their warm hands linking in ultimate, life-risking trust. It was the only part of Mary's life uncontrolled and entirely hers.

The Court approved of her teaching her son, as acrobatic techniques would be beneficial to a Talon, but it was not for them.

Already, at two years old, it was obvious how much Richard loved it. Under her careful guidance, he mastered the miniature tightrope, and very basic maneuvers. It was a game for him, she was sure, but that didn't make it any less enjoyable. To her, connecting with him over something she felt so passionate about made him seem less like a Talon and more like a human, her child. It filled her chest with a hope she hadn't felt since before being indoctrinated. The more years that passed, the more he learned and smiled the more that hope grew.

He's six, going on seven, when that hope forms a thought.

 _Maybe it doesn't have to be like this. Maybe I can keep him._

They're so sure it's Katherine. She isn't a terror, at least, but a tough little thing. She wrestled with children two years older, and usually won. There were murmurs of her soon receiving special training, being taken from her almost distant parents early to prepare for her 'role'. Considering that she was just an ordinary little girl, it was laughable, but it kept Richard blissfully unsuspected. She can't complain.

Despite the fact his eyes hadn't flashed gold since his toddler years, she always kept him close, and limited his time with others. Even her own husband didn't see him often. Though she loathed keeping Richard away from her loving, kind John, it was too risky. It was either having those memories of his father, or being a child for a little while longer. Perhaps it was selfish, or a decision she didn't have the authority to make, but Richard had never known any different, and at least didn't seem to mind. A momma's boy through and through, he enjoyed the extra time he spent with her, from practicing acrobatic flips and routines to helping her and taking care of the animals. He especially enjoyed feeding and petting the elephant, who seemed to like him just as much.

Richard was kind, kind and so very bright and innocent.

She wouldn't -couldn't- let her sweet child be _used_ for their purposes.

But she couldn't escape. Not now. Not when it was a life on the run. He was too young for such things, far too young, and he loved performing with his parents. She couldn't just rip away his entire world without even being able to even tell him why.

(What would she even say? 'Your destiny was to be a super-powered assassin controlled by a cult and I couldn't let it happen'? Yeah, that'd go well with an elementary student)

With or without John, Richard deserved a better life. He didn't ask to be born, and he certainly didn't ask to be Talon.

"Thirteen," she promises to him when he's asleep, running her fingers through his black hair. "When you turn thirteen, we'll run. And we'll never turn back. I'll protect you, my little robin."

* * *

He was eight when the line snaps, and she fell.

I'm sorry, she thought. She couldn't move her eyes from her son's horrified features, (thank god he hadn't jumped yet) and for a moment his eyes glowed gold through the already forming tears.

Mary wanted to laugh. She wanted to cry. She wanted to live. She wanted to save her son from himself. But there were only seconds.

 _At least I'll finally be free_ , she thought with a bitter smile, eyes closing.

And then she was.


	2. Prologue Part II: Divergence

The funeral was a blur.

It felt like a terrible dream, a strange haze he still expected to wake from. Even a month later, it seemed entirely plausible his mother would walk through that large door at any moment to bring him home. But she never did, and never would.

(His parents, splattered red and oh god their broken _bodies_ -)

The memories burned behind his eyelids every time he dared to close them, much less sleep. So at night, when the memories were especially bad, there was only one comfort- climbing as high as he possibly could, which was comfortably high in a _manor_ of all things.

 _It's strange_ , he thought, feet dangling over the side of the chandelier. _Never thought I'd be in a mansion._ Of course, he'd never considered his parents' deaths and what would happen if they did, but he was a circus brat, through and through. If anything, he assumed one of the other circus members would raise him. But somehow, that didn't happen.

Instead, he was Bruce Wayne's ward.

"Why did you take me if you didn't want me?" he murmured aloud. In the past month, he'd barely spent five minutes with the man. He didn't even see him for meals.

A mysterious Gotham millionaire, always grinning with a woman on each arm in the TV interviews and newspapers, an adoption was something no one had expected. _Charity case, publicity stunt,_ said the newspapers and the gossip magazines. He was really starting to suspect like they were right, and that wasn't a great feeling. _If it isn't that, it's a sympathy thing,_ he mused, swinging his legs. _His parents, too…_

"Master Dick? You're up quite late… and high."

If he hadn't basically learned to walk on a tightrope, he might have fallen off at the sudden words, but it was easy to regain his balance. Instead he just frowned.

"Why do you call me 'Master'?" he asked, hugging his knees to his chest.

"I don't think the chandelier is a good place for a conversation. Why don't you come down, and we'll talk?"

Dick huffed in displeasure, but flipped down. Alfred, the Wayne butler, was the only friendly presence (or really only presence) in the manor. The last thing Dick really wanted was to get on his bad side. It was empty enough without someone to talk to.

"Come," the butler said simply, and Dick could have sworn a smile tugged at his lips. "I'll make you some cocoa."

Dick grinned and bound after him.

* * *

"Why's he gone all the time?" Dick asked, dark fingers curled around the warm mug.

Alfred frowned at the question, and sighed. "Master Bruce is quite busy with work, and he is… not used to people being in the house, especially a child. Just give him time." He shot the child a reassuring smile. "I know he'll adjust."

Dick fell silent for a moment before his features melted into a face of almost determination. "If he doesn't… it's… okay." He shrugged, voice dropping. "My… my dad was like that, too. Always busy with circus stuff. It's my mom who…" His voice broke, and he stared down at the chocolatey liquid as he bit his lip.

 _Mom..._

He quickly wiped away the forming tears from his eyes. Eight years old felt too old to cry, at least in front of people. It was one of the only good things about his new, way too large room. No one had their own at the circus, and he was not used to silence, not used to the absence of snores, whispers, and heavy footsteps. But now there was no one to hear his quiet sobs.

It was lonely.

There was a light touch at his shoulder. Despite the fact he knew it was meant to be comforting, he wanted to snap at him. _Say it'll get better, I dare you,_ he thought angrily. _Say that someday it'll be okay. Just like everyone else. Say it like you understand._

"More marshmallows?" he asked simply, and Dick nodded, anger fading away to nothing. Somehow, those simple words conveyed an understanding he hadn't thought possible. And that was it.

* * *

Dick wrapped the comforter closer around himself, trying not to shiver in the cold. Alfred must turn off the heater at night, he concluded, almost wishing the large armchair would swallow him up as he stared at the portrait of his guardian's parents. From what little he had seen of Bruce, Dick saw their features in him. In the sharp, hard lines of his father's jaw and facial structure, but also his mother's surprisingly soft eyes.

In his mind's eye, the faces of his own parents swirled. _You have your father's eyes,_ his mother had always said affectionately, but he couldn't see anything else. From his memory alone, he couldn't say whose eye shape or lips he had, and even now, his father's face was becoming fuzzy. It'd only been a month, but he'd already forgotten his own dad's face.

His mother's face was still clear, clear as day, but how much longer would she be?

Dick bit his lip, bit his lip so hard it almost bled. It did nothing to hide the sudden, wet tears spilling over his cheeks.

"I'm sorry," he said aloud to the empty air. Nothing but silence replied.

A new wave of sorrow sunk into his heart, and this time there was nothing he could do to hold back his quiet sobs. There was no one to hear (now) so there was no reason to be quiet, yet the too large echoing somehow gave one. Besides, he really had no idea where Alfred slept. He didn't want to wake (bother) anyone.

He froze when something swished open and closed behind him. A voice sighed, and heavy footsteps began to walk past the large armchair, the large armchair that thankfully hid his small frame from the mysterious person.

 _It's three in the morning,_ he thought. _Who'd be opening a door?_ Suddenly, his fists clenched as a realization dawned.

 _...But there's no door there._

As soon as the footsteps faded, he stood from the armchair, letting the comforter fall to the floor as he moved to were the noise had come from. There was nothing there, except a small desk and an elegant grandfather clock. The desk was empty and boring. Next, the clock. He frowned as his hand ran over the smooth oak. Not really that interesting, if not pretty. Normal, at least, until his hand met the slightly ajar glass door, opening to the insides of the clock. It was open less than an inch, but…

"Why would this be open?" he mumbled to himself, before slipping his fingers in the crack and pulling it open the rest of the way. It was slightly dusty inside, and looked relatively normal. It obviously had been dusted before, but Dick assumed Alfred had a rotation and hadn't gotten here yet. But why would he dust the inside of a clock? He had a feeling it was more than just dedication.

He was about to give up and close the door when he saw it.

Despite the dust covering most of the inside, the largest pendulum was spotless. He'd seen enough Scooby Doo episodes in the lapses between circus performances to know what that meant, but… Hesitantly, his fingers wrapped around the object and, hoping he wouldn't break anything, he pulled.

He stepped back, startled, as the clock was circled away and a door stood in its place.

Curiosity (and maybe confidence) overpowering the fear, he walked in.

* * *

The hallway leading to the elevator was disappointing, but once he'd taken the elevator down to its only destination, came the awe inspiring moment he'd been expecting.

Incredible didn't even begin to describe it.

The cave reached dizzying heights, and hung from the ceiling were metal, sturdy walkways. They were well made and supported; he was amazed none of them shook even slightly when he walked across them. Most of the shiny equipment was on the far end of the cave, on a natural, thick rock jutting out of the side. Bats jittered in black bunches in random corners, and several of the computers, tablets, and technology Dick didn't even recognize bleeped seemingly randomly. There was a table in the middle of the natural platform, covered haphazardly in gadgets and weapons. Carefully, he picked up what almost looked like a boomerang, except it was completely black and instead of carved wood, was made of metal and sharp blades.

In wonder, one of his fingers ran over the bat insignia in the middle of the weapon.

"You're the one who set off the alarm, then," a voice spoke from behind. Shocked, he spun around.

Still in his Batman armor, but with the famous cowl tucked under his arm, Bruce Wayne frowned tiredly in his direction.

Dick stared at him with wide eyes, dropping what he now knew was a batarang onto the table.

"You're Batman."

Bruce sighed and open up his mouth.

"Holy crap, you're Batman!"

There was a brief moment of silence before the questions came tumbling out.

"This is so cool! How long have you been Batman? Did you build this down here? How did you? I mean like, people gotta notice if you hire them to build stuff in a cave. Are those real bats? Do you feed them? Do you have any powers, like can you call them to do your bidding or whatever? Why'd you pick a bat? No offence, but when you think scary, no one thinks 'oh no a bat-"

Bruce set the cowl on the table before firmly grabbing him by the shoulders.

"Calm down, Dick."

The child shut his mouth, but his eyes were still curious as they looked up at the hero.

Bruce sighed. "Look, let me make one thing very clear. I know this is very cool and all, but you can't tell anyone about this. I'm serious, I cannot stress this enough."

Dick rolled his eyes "Duh," he droned, before freezing. "Wait, can I tell Alfred?" The butler had been so nice… he didn't want to lie.

"Alfred knows." Dick visibly relaxed at the words. "He's been a part of this since the beginning. I don't think he approves, still, but he's my eyes and ears here at the cave. I wouldn't be able to do this without him."

Suddenly, calmness settled over the boy, and his eyes sparked with determination as he met Bruce's eyes.

"I want to help. Let me go out with you."

"What?" Bruce instantly let go of him, brow furrowing. _That came out of nowhere._ "No. You're just a child. You can't. You'll get hurt."

"I've been doing acrobatics since I could stand," Dick pointed out. "I learned to walk on a tightrope."

Bruce crossed his arms. "No."

Dick pouted. "That's not fair. You get to!"

"I'm not eight years old."

Dick's frowned deepened. "Not good enough reason. Lots of kids help their par-" An uncomfortable feeling filled the child's chest before he grimaced and shook his head. "...lots of kids help their guardians."

"Not with this. I'm not going to let you come with me just so you can play hero."

"That's not it!"

"Why do you want to, then?"

Dick's fists clenched, and he stared at the floor as his voice dropped. "I… If I have the ability to, I want to help people. I want to keep kids from being orphaned like me. No one… No one deserves to lose their family."

Silence settled for a moment, before Bruce sighed again. He cleared his throat.

"This is not me saying yes," he began, "...but I will train you. If you pass, and _only_ if you pass, we'll talk about it."

Dick looked up in shock.

"It will be very difficult," he warned.

Dick grinned. "I know."

* * *

Nine year old Dick Grayson smirked as he flipped backwards, narrowly avoiding the light punch Bruce had thrown.

"Good," Bruce breathed, finally ceasing the sparring match with a step back. "Good. You did well, Dick. Let's take a break."

The boy shot an enthusiastic smile as he bounced off to the cooler (a recent addition to the batcave, which Dick had dubbed the 'batcooler') and pulled out a bottle of water. Despite himself, a small smile came over Bruce's features as he watched the boy, even as the voice next to him sighed disapprovingly.

"Something wrong, Alfred?" he asked, eyes still glued to his ward.

"He's just a boy," Alfred said quietly. "Are you sure it's the best idea to bring him out into the field?"

"It's not like he doesn't have rules with it, and I'll always be there to protect him...and he has the same determination I had at his age. I doubt that he'll just stand down if I told him no." Bruce shook his head. "Besides, he's been training hard for a year. He's proved himself capable. And he's already chosen a name."

"Whatever you think is right, sir." The billionaire pretended he didn't hear the thinly veiled disagreement of the butler as he stepped forward to the youngest member of their makeshift family.

Dick, seeing the approaching hero, abandoned the now empty water bottle on the gear table and ran over.

Bruce was smiling slightly as he held out his hand. "Congratulations… Robin."

 _Must have been a trick of the light_ , Bruce would think later, because the moment their hands met he could have sworn Dick's eyes flashed gold.

* * *

"What about the Grayson boy? There is a chance he is the Talon. We cannot allow him to leave."

"There is no point in acting prematurely. Retrieving him now would cause too much attention. He was the last of the three born, and the Winters girl shows promise. If the other two are not, then we will act."

"What if he is an improper fit? A rich life may corrupt him."

"If his Talon instincts are not enough, rebirth is always an option. Just like his mother, if he is an issue, he will be removed."

"Fine, then. But if this goes wrong, it's on your head."


	3. Act I - Awakening

**Act I**

" _So you're the new face, huh?" A quiet, raspy voice spoke. "About time."_

 _Dick, glanced up, eyes wide in shock._

 _The white room was empty, empty except for the wooden chair and the man._

 _He looked mid 30's, yet had an ageless face that could go ten years each way. His wide, tired eyes were a glittering gold, shaggy unkempt black hair hanging to his shoulders. He was not wearing a shirt, his pale skin scattered with endless thick, angry scars. Though he was sitting casually in the chair, his stare was unnerving._

 _"What? Where am I?"_

 _"Your head." The man's head tilted slightly in curiosity. "Where else could we be?"_

 _Dick glanced around. "This doesn't look like my head. It's… empty."_

 _"Well, it is," he said, matter-of-factly._

 _"You make no sense!" Already, he was frustrated. "What-"_

 _"Enough questions. It isn't time."_

* * *

Dick awoke with a start, pale and shaking.

 _What a weird dream,_ he thought, quickly standing and getting dressed.

Breakfast and the morning flew by in a haze, and even if the memories of the dream had already faded, the uneasiness it had created hadn't

"...In happier news, Richard Grayson, the adopted son of billionaire Bruce Wayne, is turning fourteen this Friday. Though the Wayne Mansion had declined to comment on what Mr. Wayne has planned, it is bound to be an extravagant event! Richard Grayson was only eight-"

Dick was only half listening to the news report, but still frowned as he picked at his lunch. Dream all but forgotten, now it was something entirely different on his mind.

"Why are they so interested in my birthday?" he murmured. It wasn't that interesting. He was just going to be a year older, that's all.

"Gotham isn't necessarily the best place to live," Bruce replied, taking a sip of his coffee. "Everyone is always looking for something happy to celebrate. Besides, don't you always love a perfomance, Dick?"

The younger shook his head. "It's fun being Robin, doing acrobatic stuff and taking out supervillains. A lot like the circus. That's the real me, and I love cameras. But pretending to be the charming, grateful orphan in a suit? I hate it."

Something that was not quite a smile played on Bruce's lips. "You'll get used to it."

Dick frowned. "You've said that for five years."

"You're just not used to it yet," he teased.

The teen playfully rolled his eyes, and finally stuffed some food in his mouth, trying to ignore the sudden sickening churning in the bottom of his stomach.

 _Must just be getting sick_ , he thought, and finding himself not able to take another bite he stood.

"I'm feeling kind of tired," he lied, ignoring Bruce's worried frown as he turned away. "I'm going to go take a nap. Wake me up for patrol if I'm not up by then."

A nap would probably fix it, right?

* * *

 _The moment he entered, the memory came flowing back._

 _Staring at the man, Dick crossed his arms._

" _It's you again."_

 _The man's lips twitched like he was going to smile, but a moment later it was the same emotionless line as before._

" _So if you're not lying to me, and this_ _ **is**_ _my head, then why are you here?"_

 _The man made a jittery sound, something in-between a laugh and a huff. "This is a special part of your head, little bird. It's your dreamscape, and your training ground, and your thinking place. Once you know how to use it correctly, you can create anything." He opened his fist, and a glinting knife materialized on his palm. A moment later it expertly danced across his fingers, before he threw it upwards and then caught it mid-air._

" _I've had fourteen years of practice," he said. "Waiting for you."_

" _What are you talking-"_

" _Word of warning, little bird," he whispered as the dream began to fade. "Tell no one."_

* * *

A rough hand shook him awake.

"Dick, it's time for patrol."

He groaned, sitting up as he wiped the intense tiredness away from his eyes. A moment later he was leaned over, rattling coughs shaking his entire body. His chest throbbed angrily in pain, and he carefully took a shaky breath.

Bruce's eyes narrowed as he put the back of his hand against Dick's forehead.

"...Nevermind. Go back to bed," he ordered, removing his hand as he stood. "You definitely have a fever."

"But what about patrol?" Dick protested weakly, shivering.

"I'll be fine by myself; you aren't well."

As if proving his point, another coughing fit overcame Dick's body as he grudgingly laid back down. He barely closed his eyes before unconsciousness claimed him once again.

* * *

 _He was still playing with the knife when Dick returned again. Humming a minor tune, he threw the knife with the beat. Up. Down. Up. Down._

 _He threw the knife, and this time his hand dropped. And the knife never fell._

 _It simply vanished._

" _Funny, isn't it?" he mused aloud. "How easy it is for something to just disappear. A weapon. A home. A human life, to whatever exists after this one. Of course…." Pause. "If God does exist, we shall never meet. Or maybe he doesn't, and people just fade away into nothingness, while one remains."_

 _Dick stared._

" _Go on," he encouraged, standing. "Ask the question you've been too afraid to ask, little bird."_

" _Who are you?" The words left his lips before he could even think about them._

" _More accurately," the man began, eyes sparkling with amusement. "...who are you?"_

* * *

"He still feverish?"

Alfred frowned, wiping the sweat off the teen's brow with a cloth.

"He still won't wake, yet… He isn't getting better, but he isn't getting worse either." He shook his head. "It is quite peculiar, Master Bruce. This sickness. I haven't seen anything like it."

Bruce frowned, crossing his arms. "It's been an entire day… if he isn't better by the morning, we'll take him to the hospital."

"At this point it looks like we'll have to reschedule his party," Alfred commented, lips thinning before his voice fell down to a murmur. "That's quite the birthday… a hospital stay…"

"He has plenty of birthdays," Bruce sighed. "Besides, he's never really been lucky. "

* * *

 _Dick walked forward, this time unafraid as he approached the wooden chair._

" _I'm sick of your games," he said accusingly, swallowing back the sudden lump in his throat._

" _Impatient, aren't you?" The man tilted his head. "I apologize. I forget how young you are. You don't quite know yet, do you?"_

" _I just want answers." Dick's fists clenched. "I know you're not just a dream."_

" _Careful. Be very careful." The man held a finger to his lips, this time drawn in a serious frown as he stood. He was tall, taller than Dick expected as he towered over the teen. Though he did not speak, Dick heard the words all the same._

 _ **Beware the Court of Owls, that watches all the time,  
Ruling Gotham from a shadowed perch, behind granite and lime.  
They watch you at your hearth, they watch you in your bed.  
Speak not a whispered word about them, or they'll send the Talon for your head.**_

* * *

Golden eyes flashed open the second the clock hit midnight, only one word on parched lips.

"Talon."


	4. Distrust

"You sure you're feeling well enough for patrol, Dick?"

"For the _millionth_ time, I told you, I feel great!" If he wasn't in such a good mood, he might be more annoyed, but… The teen grinned widely as he flipped forward into a handstand. "Think I can beat my record? Bet I can hold it for ten minutes this time."

"Take it easy," Bruce warned, frowning disapprovingly. "Just yesterday, your fever was 102 and you were almost comatose."

Dick rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I get it, you were worried." He flipped forward to a standing position. "But I'm okay now. Seriously, I feel better than okay, really. I feel like I could punch Riddler into next week!" He smirked as he threw a fake punch. "You don't have to be suspicious of everything, you know. Now, c'mon, villains don't wait for us to get there."

Bruce followed the flipping teenager down to the batcave, frowning all the while.

* * *

"Just- Just punch him! He's just a kid! Can't be that hard!"

It was amazing that after five years, the thugs still underestimated Batman's chipper partner. The major villains had more or less learned that he was much more than he seemed, but their hired help never seemed to understood how a child, then a teen, could ever, well… kick their asses. Which Dick -under the name Robin- was very proficient at. Though there was a throbbing bruise on his cheek from when he'd misjudged an attack, minor wounds were always bound to happen and it did nothing to discourage his mood.

Adrenaline buzzed pleasantly in his chest as he dodged another hit, grinning as his attacker fell forward with the misplaced energy. Defense was the best offense, right? Bruce had hammered that pretty hard in training. When his friend started fumbling with his revolver, he ran forward, aiming a kick at his chest. As always, he was simply intending it to throw the man back a few feet- and usually most of them would drop the gun in surprise. He'd done it a million times.

What he wasn't expecting was the unmistakable crack of bone, and the man's scream in pain as he was thrown a good fifteen feet away.

His first reaction was to freeze in surprise, completely shocked. _I didn't hit him that hard,_ he thought furiously. _How could I have_? Dick was much stronger than the average fourteen year old, he knew that… but to break ribs? Accidently? It just didn't happen.

In his shocked state, it was too late that he heard the cocking of a gun behind him, and he barely had time to turn in alarm. Before the man could fire, however, out of the darkness came a black fist, and a well placed attack left the thug crumpled on the ground. In less than a moment later, Batman's quick fingers emptied the gun. As the unused bullets fell to the ground, he finally walked forward to his partner.

"Robin," he began disapprovingly, sending a gaze to the hyperventilating man in the corner, hands clutching at his broken ribs. "What did you do?"

For a moment, he couldn't reply, his chest constricting. Something was very wrong, and it wasn't just the fact Bruce was angry. God, why was it so hard to breathe, suddenly? His fists shook.

"I…I didn't mean..." He bit his lip. "I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know?" It wasn't often that accusing voice was used on anything other than a criminal, and subconsciously Dick tensed.

Defensive words played on the tip of his tongue, but they all caught in the back of his throat; black started to creep into the side of his vision, and his eyes widened. "I'm gonna-"

The darkness had almost completely taken over before he could finish, but Bruce must have understood anyway. As his knees buckled, the last thing he remembered was strong arms wrapping around him just before he hit the ground.

* * *

 _"He won't understand, you know."_

 _The room was still white, and this time there was no chair. The man was simply sitting cross-legged on the floor, golden eyes staring curiously._

 _Dick frowned, crossing his arms as he sat across from the other. "You again."_

 _Something akin to a smile teased at the man's lips. "Yes. Me. Who else would I be?"_

 _Silence._

 _"So, who are you?" Dick questioned suspiciously, leaning forward. "Like, I'm seriously confused. I thought you were just a hallucination when I was sick. Something I made up in my head."_

 _"No. I am much more than that." He was slightly offended, but also amused at the same time if his tone was anything to go by. But despite Dick's training, it was difficult to tell. His facial features barely moved, except for his lips and eyes. It was… unsettling._

 _"Then what are you then? A villain trying to drive me crazy? An alien? A ghost?"_

 _"No, no, and I suppose you could consider me close enough to the last." The man stood, sighing. "It's been many, many years since I've gone by my given name, but the title I am used to is not mine anymore." Those golden pupils bore into Dick's skull. "My name used to… is now… William. William Cobb, little bird."_

 _"'Little bird'?" Dick quoted, raising a brow. He was used to being called something like bird-boy or whatever, but… a dark feeling in his stomach told him this wasn't the same thing. This didn't have anything to do with being Robin._

 _"You don't remember that last hour, do you." It wasn't a question. "When I told you."_

 _"Something about…" Dick's face scrunched in confusion. "...a nursery rhyme?"_

 _"It doesn't matter. When they take you it will all become clear. Make no mistake, little bird. There's no where you can fly that they can't find you."_

 _"'They'?! Who is 'they'?"_

" _He won't understand," William repeated, finger coming up to his lips. "What you are. Who you are. That's why you can never tell him."_

* * *

Though later he would think it didn't quite qualify as a nightmare, he still awoke gasping. Once he regained his breath, an uncharacteristic frown replaced the usual beaming smile.

Sighing, he stretched.

"I hope that's not an every night thing," he murmured, an unsettling feeling settling in his stomach as he stood. Unlike the last time, the dream wasn't muddled in his mind this time. Clear as day, he remembered every moment. Strange. Oh well. He shoved the thought away and finally looked himself over, as he always did when he had been knocked out… or had passed out, in this case.

He was no longer in his Robin uniform, but instead in some pajamas, which wasn't a surprise. It wasn't the best thing to sleep in. His visible arms looked fine, not a bruise or even small cut to be seen, which was good, and he wasn't sore at all. However, hunger gnawed at his stomach, and thirst at his throat, which meant that he'd been asleep for at least four hours

 _Wonder how long I've been out_ , he thought as he walked towards the mirror. And then promptly froze.

 _No way… not for that long._

He looked relatively normal, except for the fact the bruise he'd earned during the last escapade had completely disappeared. His fingers came up to hesitantly prod at the spot the bruise had been, but there was no pain whatsoever.

Alarmed, he quickly paced over to the door, fingers forceful as they curled around the doorknob. He pulled back when he felt the metal begin to bend under his fingers. For what felt like forever he stared, white faced, at the imprints his fingers had left.

"What the hell!" His first thought spilled from his lips, unfiltered in his state of shock. His second, however, did not exit his lips but was just as clear, anyway.

 _I need to tell Bruce._

Sudden super powers didn't just happen. Either like some sort of radiation or explosion happened, or you were born an alien or something. Fourteen year olds didn't just wake up with enhanced strength and healing. He hadn't been exposed to anything unusual recently, as far as he could remember- but if anyone could get to the bottom of this sudden mystery, it was Bruce.

He paused in his quiet stride down the stairs as angry words echoed from the first floor. Curious, he peaked over the side of the staircase below.

Bruce had crossed his arms angrily, frowning as he paced.

"I knew I should have kept him home," he fumed. "Now he's gone and broken some thug's ribs, and then he just passed out."

"Master Bruce…" Alfred's calm, firm voice lilted up the stairs. "You know it's very out of character for Master Dick to use excess force. I doubt he truly meant to."

"I know that," Bruce snapped, though his tone was not as much angry as annoyed. And was slight worry undertoning his words? "But that doesn't excuse his actions, and I can't have him on the field if he can't control himself. It takes a lot of energy and purpose to break ribs- and if he did it accidently, something is very wrong and I can't very well let him out either. Not until I know what the hell is happening."

Dick tensed, and his fingers dropped from the railing as his heart stopped. His fingers clenched into fists as for a moment he couldn't breathe. No. No, Bruce couldn't take away the one thing that truly made him feel alive-

"Well, he is a teenager, Master Bruce," Alfred pointed out, finally walking forward into Dick's line of sight. As always, he was calm and composed, his unflappable manner always present. "Perhaps he simply lost his temper for a short period. More control comes with time and maturity, and while it might be a good idea to give him a short break from vigilantism for a few nights, I don't think it's productive to bench him for a prolonged period of time."

Breath filled his lungs in relief, fists releasing.

Bruce sighed, rage finally seeping from his body as his posture relax. "I suppose. He didn't really do that much damage. But he said it was an accident. If it really was, I can't let him go out until I know what's wrong."

 _He won't understand,_ he remembered. _That's why you can never tell him._

He let his footsteps get loud and echoing as he practically jumped down the stairs, full false grin out for the world to see. Bruce and Alfred silenced as he approached. Obviously, he wasn't meant to hear the previous conversation. If he could help it, they would never know he did.

"You're awake," Bruce said, face emotionless.

Dick took a deep breath, and lied.

"I'm sorry," he began, faking a sheepish smile. "I… um, lied about the guy's ribs. He said some pretty nasty stuff and I kinda lost my temper. I didn't really realize how much force I was using until it was too late… and I guess you were right about me still being sick. I should've listened."

Bruce visibly relaxed, but his face was stern. He looked exhausted if the heavy bags and the slightly sluggish movements were any indication… which, Dick realized, is probably why he got away with lying to the greatest detective in the world. "You shouldn't have lied, and you definitely shouldn't have lost control like that. You're going to stay home the next few days because of it." Pause. "But… you're young. It doesn't completely excuse it, but it's more understandable. We'll do some extra sessions on control. It should fix -or at least help- the problem."

A small expression of grim discontentment settled on Dick's features right on cue as he nodded, mumbling an understanding, but disappointed reply. Bruce was satisfied with that, and walked away to do something or other. Dick instantly turned to Alfred, and before long he had some food prepared for the starving teen.

He hated lying, but he wasn't going to give up being Robin because of it.

 _You made a mistake_ , the voice inside said. _It's just going to get worse and you're not going to be able to hide it. You can't ignore it forever._

 _Watch me,_ he thought back to it, trying to ignore the sinking in his stomach as he took a bite of his sandwich.

 _Watch me_.


	5. Reveal

The next three days were… trial and error.

It was actually really good that Bruce benched him, because while Batman was busy fighting crime, he could start to try and get a hold on whatever the hell was happening to him. He wasn't even around enough to be suspicious. During the day he had endless board meetings and private affairs with Wayne Enterprises, and until the early hours of the morning he was either out trying to get a hold of Joker (who had recently escaped Arkham Asylum _again_ ) or in the cave, trying to scrape up information. Dick barely saw him.

However, he was really starting to regret not telling Bruce right away.

Once things calmed down, once Joker was temporarily put away again and Bruce actually had time to notice, there was no way he could hide that what was happening to him. He definitely was stronger, though at the moment he couldn't test how much. As for his senses, he could read small print from across the room, and his hearing? Sometimes everything was just so deafening he had to hide away in his room because it _hurt_. What was really unsettling was that he knew when Bruce got hurt, because he could _smell_ the blood on him. How did he know how blood smelled? He had no idea, but somehow he did.

However, the worst part was that he couldn't talk to anyone about it.

Bruce wasn't an option for obvious reasons, and if spoke to Alfred (his usual confidant), he would almost definitely tell Bruce in concern. William, though occasionally helpful, always talked in riddles. He never gave any real advice or answers, besides the constant mantra of 'don't tell anyone anything'.

He was glad he'd at least figured out how to restrict his strength enough to type, so he could at least complete his schoolwork. As Robin, he couldn't exactly go to a normal 8AM - 3PM school. Aside from lack of sleep, he'd have too many unexcused absences, not to mention suspicious bruises. Online school, though a bit lonely, was clearly the best option. Though the public was told that it was for his own safety as the son of a billionaire, that couldn't be farther from the truth.

Three days in, it was a nice distraction when everything else seemed to be falling apart. Math, english, science… there were clear rules and things made sense. The unpredictability of being Robin was freeing, but especially now it was nice to just have the lulling comfort of routine.

But there was only so much homework, only so much distraction before there was nothing left to do. That point came for Dick about noon on that third day, four days after his birthday.

Careful to gently close his laptop, he sighed frustratedly.

What do I do now, he wondered, his leg bouncing impatiently. He had never been that particularly good at sitting for long, and almost instantly he stood and stretched, bending back so far his fingers brushed the ground.

"Master Dick?"

Dick tensed, almost flinching from the sheer loudness of the words (except he knew that it wasn't that loud to anyone else) and rolled forward into a standing position.

"Hi, Alfred," he greeted as he walked over to the butler. "What's up?"

"It's been awhile since you have been out of the manor," Alfred began, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. "I was wondering if you would like to join me on some errands."

 _I should say no,_ Dick thought. He barely had any control over those newfound abilities yet. Instead, he smiled.

"Sure." _Anything for a distraction._

* * *

The best part about going out with Alfred was that people didn't really recognize him.

Alfred was an unfamiliar face, and since the public was used to seeing the adopted son of Bruce Wayne in suits and formal wear, in t-shirts and pants people didn't look at him twice. It was incredibly nice to walk in a public place without cameras flashing, and he almost felt normal for once as Alfred pushed a cart down the dairy aisle. Dick hummed happily, grinning.

Alfred smiled at him as he paused for a moment, leaning forward to pick up some milk.

"Is there anything you'd like for dinner?" he asked pleasantly. "Since Master Bruce is… otherwise accompanied, it is entirely your choice tonight."

Dick shrugged, discomfort slowly building in his chest as he mentally retreated inward. Though Alfred probably assumed it was a growth spurt, he'd been eating a lot… enough for two or three people a lot. Yesterday, he'd tried to slow down and not eat as much, but all he'd succeeded doing was going to bed feeling like he hadn't eaten all day. He wasn't looking forward to repeating the experience. It was only when he came back to himself that he noticed the suspicious, slightly worried look Alfred was shooting in his direction.

"Everything you make is amazing, Alfred," he praised with a small smile. "I'm good with anything." Though it did little to quell the raised, disbelieving eyebrow, it was at least enough for the butler to sigh and move on to pick up some butter.

* * *

Bruce set the cowl on the table with a groan. After pushing back his sweaty hair, he glanced again towards the batcomputer worriedly.

"Damn it," he murmured frustratedly, sinking into his chair tiredly.

"Master Bruce?"

Bruce tensed for a moment before swirling the chair around to meet the other's eyes.

"Oh, hello Alfred," he greeted tiredly. "You're up late."

The butler raised a brow as if pointing out, _you too, Bruce._ However, he said nothing of the sort as he approached.

"No new information on the manor's attackers?" he questioned smoothly, glancing over the papers piled chin high on the weapons table.

"No," Bruce mused, trying to ignore his blurry sight as he stood and absentmindedly picked up one of the papers. "It makes no sense. I mean, assassins attacking Batman makes sense, but Bruce Wayne's manor? Usually, I would blame one of his opponents putting out a hit but…" He shook his head. "I… have a bad feeling. Whoever these people are, I can't find anything about them. Dentals come back with nothing, and their fingerprints are burned off… and I doubt they'll stay long in police department custody. I've even put out my feelers, but still nothing."

Alfred frowned. "That's quite peculiar."

"I guess I'm just lucky that Dick hasn't found out about it." Bruce threw the paper back onto the table. "This is too dangerous for him right now." _When he can't control himself, when he hasn't been feeling well, when_ I _don't know why they're attacking._ The words were left unsaid, but he knew that the other understood anyway.

Alfred raised a brow in disapproval. "As much as I would like to discuss my thoughts on the matter, Master Dick needs your attention. These mysterious assassins can wait another day. He is acting strange, and not the way most teenagers do… I fear something may be wrong. You may be trying to keep him safe, Master Bruce, but right now he needs a parent more than he does a protector."

"...Do you think he's still awake?" Bruce asked after a long moment, finally moving to take off the rest of the suit.

Slight mirth graced Alfred's lips. "He _is_ Robin, after all, Master Bruce. His sleeping schedule isn't exactly normal."

* * *

Another sleepless night. Fantastic.

Even when he wasn't out patrolling in the name of justice, somehow he still couldn't sleep. Whether it was an aftereffect of going out from eleven o'clock to the wee hours of the morning, or perhaps just his shaken nerves, it still was frustrating as he walked the dark halls of Wayne Manor.

 _Bruce is probably back by now_ , he thought, eyes glancing out one of the large paned windows. The moon was full, lighting up the trees and landscape in subtle, gray light. He leaned forward against the window, and closed his eyes as he felt the cool glass against his forehead.

"I'm so tired," he murmured. He wished he was talking about physically. A small huff escaped his lips, fogging up the window. "Some superhero I am." _Can't even hide powers for a couple days. How the hell does everyone else do it? Pathetic._

Suddenly, he jerked up, his eyes wide as a dark feeling rose in his chest. Dick stepped back, frowning. For a moment there was only silence.

Then, the window exploded in glass and black and gold.

Ears ringing, he yelped, back hitting the wall as his arms flew upward to protect his face. The first thing to register wasn't his aching back or the sharp pain of the shattered glass shifting in his arms. No, it was the adrenaline, the adrenaline making his fists shake and the sudden hyperawareness. For a moment he didn't open his eyes, just listening.

The soft breathing and footsteps of his attacker, the ring of a drawn sword, and the slight swirl of air brushing his face as it was aimed inches from his nose.

"Richard Grayson," said a voice low and surprisingly soft. "It is time for you to serve."

Golden eyes flashed open.

An intricate gold and black suit met his vision, and a smooth white mask. Dick didn't waste any time studying the other, however, his foot instantly going for a fragile ankle. Obviously not expecting any resistance from a billionaire's spoiled son, the sword clattering to the ground as he fell. Dick quickly kicked the sword away before clambering to his feet. Not caring for the glass cutting at his feet, nor the small rivers of blood flowing down his arms, he stumbled backwards, his only thought to put distance between him and his attacker.

A bitter laugh escaped the lips of the man as he stood. "Resist as much as you wish, Grayson. It doesn't matter. You will succumb to your destiny. In a way, it is good you fight. To survive, you'll need that fire."

"I'm not much of someone that believes in predesign," Dick quipped, adopting a fighting stance. "Destiny is something you make for yourself."

"You'll soon see the light, child." Just like that, the man attacked. And just like that, all of Dick's insecurity and fear and apprehension slipped away. Just like that, everything was okay again.

It was amazing how automatic it was, the dodging and punching and the kicks, and somehow it made him giddy in a way in never had before. Nevermind that pain, the glass, the feelings from before, because right now, nothing had ever felt better. _Even missing_ , he thought as the floor gave in from the power of a misjudged punch, _doesn't feel disappointing at all._

Sudden movement caught his eye, and he froze, arms dropping as he stepped back.

The man didn't even time to be confused before a quick, powerful punch to the temple sent him flying to the floor, unconscious.

Bruce raised a brow at the scene before him. Glass and blood were thrown everywhere in the hallway, along with shockingly deep, mysterious holes in the floor and wall.

Dick paled. "Uh, so… I have something I have to tell you."

* * *

His feet dangled over the edge of the table, and he hissed as Alfred took another shard of glass out of his foot. When was the damn anesthetic kick in?

(Somehow, he has a feeling it won't)

Bruce cleared his throat, and Dick was torn from his thoughts as he glanced up.

"Those powers?" Bruce began, "Don't use them."

"What?" On some level, he agreed, but… "I could help people even better! Like, I know I didn't ask for these, but I might as well use 'em if I have 'em!"

"Were they given to Robin…" Bruce began. "Or Dick Grayson?"

Dick froze. _Shit_.

"They attacked us here. Attacked you. If it was Robin, they wouldn't have known. Now, assuming they don't know that Robin and Dick Grayson are one and the same…"

"...if they saw Robin using those powers, they'd figure out our identities," Dick finished, stomach sinking as he stared at the ground. At some rustling, however, his eyes shot up, just in time to see the object Bruce threw to him. At the sight of a pair goggles in his hands, however, he glanced up questioningly.

"You probably don't notice, but your eyes keep glowing gold," Bruce said casually, as if he talking about the weather. "Sunglasses during the day will do, but in costume, just a mask isn't going to cut it. Besides, you're getting a little older. It's about time for a costume redesign."


	6. Desperation

**One year later…**

Especially now, he'd rather be anywhere than one of Bruce's galas.

He knew why it had to be done. It was part of the facade, part of the game of secret identities and faking it until you make it. Hiding bruises and stitches with long sleeves and false grins. It was how no one suspected Dick Grayson was Robin… that Bruce Wayne was Batman.

Yet still, it always sucked.

The rich people always ruined it. When Bruce wasn't near, he heard their whispers about him. What they assumed about Bruce's 'charity case'... and how they truly felt. 'Carnie', he didn't mind. Being in the circus had never been a reason of shame. There was so much talent, so many kind people. Never much money, but it didn't matter. It'd been home. Now, 'gypsy'... that word filled him with anger.

It was so difficult not to snap, not to lose his cool for just one moment because he knew what that meant. It was an insult, spilling from their tongues in condescending comments and spelled out in their eyes in their quick, almost nervous glances. As if he'd infect them if they looked at him for too long. Just because he wasn't white, somehow he was less than human.

That _word_ meant less than human.

 _You're a charming boy,_ Bruce had told him before the first gala, when his nervousness beat rapidly in his chest like an approaching stampede. _They'll love you._

 _Maybe if I'd been white._

It took everything to keep the bitter grin off of his features as he absentmindedly adjusted his reflective sunglasses. If they hadn't been in the beautiful Wayne garden, maybe they would have looked out of place- but for the moment it was acceptable. Acceptable enough that the whispers were just the usual comments, and not on his eyewear. But in the winter… well, the comments weren't exactly kind. Selfish. Spoiled. Rude.

 _You should be used to it_ , he reminded himself. With the almost random times his eyes glowed golden… _It's been a year. Plenty of time to accept you can't ever have them off in public again._ Admittedly, without them the sunlight now burned his eyes, but it was just the thought he was dependent on something that truly bothered the teen. The freedom of flying without a net, soaring without strings… he missed it.

Ignoring the uncomfortable way his stomach grumbled (didn't he eat lunch less than an hour ago? God, he needed to remember he had to eat twice the calories he had before, lest he pass out again like he did seven times that first week), he plastered a friendly smile on his features and approached a small group of socialites.

It wouldn't stop the rumors and gossiping, but it was still expected to pretend.

* * *

"You're eager to get into costume today, aren't you, Dick?" Bruce commented absentmindedly.

"After the gala, getting a chance to actually be myself sounds amazing," Dick grumbled, fumbling with his belt. It was definitely an upgrade from the tiny belt with sparse gadgets he'd had before, and yes, he definitely enjoyed the long pants, but that didn't mean he was quite used to it all yet. Though Bruce had decided he'd get a new costume, Lucius didn't complete a prototype until six months later (had to be careful when it could literally save his life), and the new, fully-tested uniform was only finished two months ago. There were… a lot of things he wasn't quite used to.

"And remember-"

"I know," Dick sighed as he adjusted his goggles. "Nothing weird. No powers."

 _No matter how much they could help._

* * *

Dodge. Dodge. Flip. Dodge. Tease. Dodge. Dodge. Flip. Dodge.

The brain-dead henchmen that used to be at least a little fun were now boringly slow, and somehow the adrenaline danger-rush he _craved_ was just gone, disappeared with the knowledge that he could easily snap their flimsy guns in half if he wanted. It was even more frustrating that Bruce had ordered him to attack as little as possible.

' _You still don't have enough control'_ , Dick mocked internally, hands clenching into fists as he easily dodged another easy hit. ' _Just keep them accompanied until I take care of Two-Face' Ha. It's been a year… and news flash, I'm your partner, not some sidekick you can order around._ But despite his thoughts, some part of him knew Bruce was right.

(The filled holes from his fists in the hallway from the altercation with the mystery assassin -the ones that were just a shade away from the hallway paint and granite floor- were enough proof of that.)

That didn't mean he wasn't still bored.

Dodge. Dodge. Flip. Dodge. Tease. Dodge. Dodge. Flip. Dodge.

A swift whirling of his legs, swiping at feet, sent one man tumbling to the ground. A loud thump met the air as the concrete collided against his skull on the way down, leaving him drooling on the floor. One of the others, ironically one who had boasted about how easy it would be to defeat the boy wonder, aimed a gun at him with shaking hands.

"What, afraid of little ol' me?" he teased, grinning as he beckoned the man closer. The henchman's teeth gritted, fingers stilling as he finally pulled the trigger. Time seemed to move at half speed; dodging the bullet was child's play.

What he wasn't expecting was the sudden, deafening boom behind him, and then… the pain.

"Oh." A lame statement, maybe, but it was all that escaped as he stared, wide eyed, at the dark red blossoming across his yellow and green uniform. Dick soundlessly glanced back, and met the eyes of the man who had been drooling on the floor a moment earlier, the man he'd assumed unconscious- the man who had just shot him in the back. The man who was now grinning.

"Jimmy, I got 'im!" he exclaimed proudly, the smoking gun dropping to his side. "Ha! Wait tell I the boys a' the bar I finally got the stinkin' brat!"

Dick fell to his knees, hands coming up to press against the wound, put pressure just like Bruce had taught him, but … it just wasn't enough. The blood was still coming out fast and thick, and his feet were starting to become numb.

 _Ironic, isn't it?_ Despite the muddled, pained thoughts, that one sentence rang out loud and clear in his mind. _This happens so often. Someone cocks a gun behind me and I don't notice._

"Um, Joe?" The other man, hands trembling again, shook his head. "I don't think that was a good idea. You forgot about-"

 _Last time they didn't get the chance to fire._

He cut himself off, his eyes suddenly became wide like saucers, and he quickly dropped his own gun and threw his hands up in surrender. Already knowing why, Dick didn't bother to look back. Or perhaps he didn't even have the energy. "God, it wasn't me!" he blubbered. "I swear! Joe shot him-"

 _Ironically, now you have these powers, and this time you were on your own._ He lifted his sticky gloves from his abdomen, and ignoring the almost distant sounds of fighting, with morbid fascination he just stared at the blood spreading across his fingers, staining the green fabric an almost brown color. Somehow, it didn't quite register that it was his own… that this wasn't just a strange dream. The throbbing, sharp pain in his side was the only reminder of reality.

 _And you fucked it all up._

"That's going to suck to get out," he chuckled quietly, darkly. "Sorry, Al."

"Quiet now," Bruce said softly, carefully lifting him, not caring about the red seeping into his own black suit. "Just try and stay awake. Your healing factor should kick in soon."

 _Will it even work on something as serious as a bullet wound?_ He wondered. Scratches and bruises were one thing- this… this was something entirely different.

But for once, he simply fell quiet.

* * *

Glancing at the ruined uniform on the table was a bit sobering, but it did nothing to quell Dick's anger.

"This is _bullshit_ , Bruce!" Dick hissed, fists clenching.

The other simply crossed his arms, and ignoring the curse, his eyes just narrowed.

"Those powers made you overconfident," he said calmly. "You're not fit to be on the field. Not until we find their source."

" _My_ powers saved my life!" he argued. "And we've been looking for a year! I can't even count how many tests you've run. I'm not waiting for an answer that won't come, not when you won't let me out to do the one thing that makes everything feel okay again-"

" _Richard_!" Silence settled, and after a moment, Bruce moved to rub his temples, voice quieting. "I've made up my mind, Dick. You could have died today. If you didn't have increased healing you probably would have, and you might have anyway with the amount of blood you lost. You're done. Stop arguing."

Dick's jaw clenched tight, and he was definitely still angry with the way his uncovered eyes flashed gold, but he said nothing as he stomped towards the elevator, up to his room.

Bruce sighed as he slumped down into the batcave chair, before swiveling around to type at the computer, face emotionless, but posture stiff and tired.

"Are you sure that was the right thing to do, sir?" Alfred's worried voice, which had fallen quiet since he'd started patching up the youngest member of their household, broke through the silence.

"I thought he was safer with me than here at home with those attackers still breaking into the mansion," he commented softly in response, pausing in his typing. "I was wrong."

* * *

Dick furiously stuffed some more clothes into his backpack.

"You know what, I'm done," he murmured angrily. "William was right. He doesn't understand. And I'm not going to fight him anymore."

 _Just the essentials,_ he reminded himself. Mentally, he went through his checklist. _Clothes, snacks, spare suit, goggles, cash, sunglasses…_ He glanced over at his electronics. Frowning, he left the computer, but grabbed his cell phone, turning it off before shoving it and the charger in his backpack, along with his grappler and birdarangs.

Though in his anger he wanted to abruptly leave without a word, the thought of a worried Alfred calmed his mind somewhat. He definitely couldn't tell Bruce beforehand, but a note… It'd at least keep them from thinking he was kidnapped or something, and buy him a little time. Despite that, maybe it was still rash, a completely impulsive decision, but he just didn't care anymore.

Not being Robin wasn't an option.

He ripped a page out of one of his notebooks, and grabbed a pen.

 _I'm fine, but I'm leaving,_ he wrote smoothly, carefully. _Don't look for me_.

It was almost hilarious how neatly he folded the note, and set it on the pillow of his made bed. (For Alfred. If it was for Bruce, he would have crumpled it and thrown it on the floor) Without even a last look, he grabbed his backpack and fearlessly jumped out the window.

 _I'm a little too old to be in your shadow anyway, aren't I, Bruce?_ he reassured himself, rolling forward as he hit the ground, then took off running the second he was on his feet again. He grinned widely for the first time in rush, the adrenaline, there it was again- god, he'd missed it. It was like finally drinking water after hours in a desert, and he was enjoying every drop. _It was time, and we both know it._

Despite being on the ground, for the first time since he'd turned fourteen, he felt like he was flying.

* * *

"It's been a year, and he's still evaded us- perhaps it's time to switch tactics, Sir?"

"The traditional agents cannot succeed." Pause. "Send the girl."

"B-But, Sir! I must highly discourage sending her! Though she has been trained, she isn't a Talon-"

"Hold your tongue. She may not be one, but the boy himself is untrained and ignorant. Give her the orders."

"...Yes, Sir. She will leave at dawn."

* * *

 **Sorry this took so long! Finals really kicked my ass... Oh well. I'm now a high school graduate, so expect much quicker updates. Anyway, the story is finally moving along, so things will really start happening now :)**


	7. Ghosts

_"As much as I would like for you to always be my little robin," she had begun in her lilting accent, running her hands through his hair, "I know you'll grow up to be something amazing."_

 _ **Sitting back, watching the memory, only now can he see the darkness and pain in her eyes.**_

 _ **"Do you think she knew?" he doesn't even glance back. Dick knows he is there. He always is now, no matter the dream.**_

 _ **William shifted, pausing at the words. "That is a difficult question."**_

 _ **"You're avoiding it."**_

 _Dick's eyes, previously closed in contentment, opened wide at his mother's words. "You mean like…" His small voice rose in excitement. "Like a hero? Like Robin Hood, or… or…" His face lit up in a grin. "Superman!?"_

 _ **"You're getting smarter," William commented confidently.**_

 _ **"You're getting easier to read." Dick then glanced back, noticing the way the edges of his lips curled up almost in a smile. It wasn't really, though. He'd figured out that was more his… laugh. Though seemingly emotionless, as time went on, William had loosened up slightly, and Dick had learned to read the little mannerisms for what they were. But it didn't really help.**_

 _ **"In a way," he finally answered. "She knew more than perhaps yourself. But as for your fate, she never could have guessed."**_

 _She smiled._

 _ **It was only now he could see the forced edge of her expression, and the hard look in her eyes.**_

 _"Who knows, little one?" She kissed his forehead. "All I do know is you will change everything."_

 _ **"Why can't you just tell me?"**_

 _ **"Why are you so sure that will make it easier, little bird?"**_

 _ **"Stop playing with me."**_

 _ **Pause.**_

 _ **"It is not my role." Dick opened his mouth to argue, but William just continued. "As every before me, I am not meant to inform. I can only prepare you for what is to come. But even then, you are unique. The strange parent she was, is all I can assume is why."**_

 _Her face suddenly lifted, and it was then her eyes narrowed at the fortune teller. His stare was intense, unblinking. Silently (and ignoring her six year old son's protests) she looped her hands around his thighs and back and lifted, moving towards their tent._

 _ **"I hope the choice she made for you was correct."**_

* * *

Dick awoke, the words repeating in his mind, but he just rubbed at his eyes and sighed.

"What a strange memory to remember," he murmured. "And he was no help." As always, William had left him with more questions than answers.

With no other choice, he grabbed his goggles.

A team.

Well, it wasn't what he'd expected, but…

Dick paused, sighing as he tilted his head back and felt the warm Jump City sun on his face. It was a big difference from the polluted, dark skies of Gotham, that was for sure- and honestly it still made him a little uneasy. Like the sunshine just hid a darker secret, because nothing was ever this bright and beautiful. When those thoughts had started to haunt him, he knew he needed to take a moment for himself. Ever since they had started building Titans Tower, he had really started taking his accidental leadership seriously- which meant that he hadn't really been alone. And while his team was great, he was… tired of being the serious leader. For once, being Dick Grayson was easier than being Robin.

It was laughably easy to slip away from the half-built headquarters and his new friends. Guarded with civilian clothing and sunglasses (and with the knowledge that no one knew that the famed son of Bruce Wayne was anywhere near Jump City), he was calm, and for the first time in weeks, the heaviness on his chest lifted- he was able to breathe again. No one talked to, or even bothered, the silent, unfamiliar teenager wandering through the city streets. No one even paid him a second glance. In Gotham, he would have been jumped once or twice already by muggers, or god forbid run into an actual villain. But, once again… it was different here. Safer.

So why did his heart still ache for Gotham? For home?

He paused at the thought.

 _Maybe I was too hard on Bruce_ , he thought with a frown, fingers curling around the cellphone in his pocket. _He was just worried._ Though three weeks ago, he would have scoffed at the very notion that he had been harsh, just enough time had passed for him to realize that maybe… Well, just maybe running away hadn't been the best thing to do. Though returning home wasn't an option anymore, he hadn't talked to Bruce since the day he'd left… Sighing, he finally pulled the phone out of his pocket, and unlocked it. His finger lingered over the message app for a few moments, hesitation. He was so focused, he almost jumped when a notification pinged on the top of his screen.

A deep, dark feeling settling in the pit of his stomach from the first few words. He clicked it.

It didn't disappoint as he scrolled down, skimming the titles. He frowned at the headlines.

'Adopted son sent off to private school for own safety, Wayne says.'

'New Robin seen in Gotham; has Bat replaced sidekick?'

'Wayne Manor has confirmed the fostering of a second son, Jason.'

It took all of his willpower not to break his phone.

"Didn't take you long, did it Bruce?" All thoughts of reconciling or even talking at all to his adoptive father faded away, replaced by a bitter sense of crude abandonment. "...That name was mine and you just gave it away." _Replaced me_.

Suddenly the panic swelled in his chest, and the people walking by two feet away were far too close, and the hustle and talking and car horns were too loud, and he had to get away-

Like every reasonably large city, Jump City had its bad neighborhoods. The crumbling alley he now found himself in, seemingly barren of human life, was proof he'd found it.

"Ah," he mumbled to himself. "I should have looked where I was running."

He wasn't too worried, as he'd proved the ability to defend for himself multiple times, but there was still this uneasiness of being in a place one had never been to, nor had any business being in. But despite himself, he found the tenseness in his shoulders relaxing.

 _God, I really am fucked up,_ he thought with a scoff _, if being in a dangerous place is what calms me._

Behind him, the sudden, telltale whisper of a sword being removed from its sheath broke his thoughts.

 _Normal thugs don't carry swords._

He whirled around, fists at the ready, a mix of nervousness and excitement swirling in his chest, crawling up his windpipe and causing his hands to shake.

It was a girl, a teen if the smaller bust and hips were anything to go by. Dressed in the golden and black garb (the same one the man who attacked him in the mansion had been wearing), which included a lower facial mask, only her tilted aquamarine eyes and fair skin was visible, as well as wisps of thin brunette locks.

Behind his sunglasses, his eyes narrowed. Something about her was so very familiar-

"Richard Grayson," she finally spoke, voice emotionless and low. "You are a very hard person to find. From the failure of the other agents send to apprehend you, a harder one to capture. But no matter. You have avoided your true destiny long enough. It's time to serve."

Her voice also rose flags in his memory, but his confusion overrode his curiosity about those familiar feelings.

"Time to serve? What the hell does that mean?" he demanded, frustration dripping from his tone. "And 'agents'? There was was only one guy. But he said that it was 'time to serve' too!"

"You ignorant fool." This time, a hint of amusement but also somehow satisfaction slipped past her emotionless wall. She raised her black sword, her own eyes narrowing into slits. "You really don't know? Truly, I knew away from the Court you would be… less educated, but to not know what you are? Who you are? You don't deserve the _gift_ you've been given."

Why had her voice suddenly turned so icy?

"I still have no idea what you're talking about!" The fact she'd made him feel extremely stupid didn't help his frustration in the least.

"Then you're going to find out." If he hadn't had super reflexes, he had a good feeling he would have a sword in the gut instead of having time to dodge. Suddenly, he was truly starting to regret taking off his uniform. Weaponless, all he could do was try to avoid her strokes.

"You're weak," she snarled, the emotionless wall she had previously been completely discarded for pure rage. "I don't understand why you keep resisting. You could be strong. Something more than yourself."

 _Strong_. His fist clenched by his side as he dodged another swipe. _I've been thinking too much like Bruce. I've been…_ Memories flashed of his fist embedded in the concrete and marble, of his seemingly light kick completely knocking back a grown man.

 _Holding back._

He didn't need a bo staff or birdarang. He didn't need any weapons. He _was_ a weapon.

Her eyes widened in shock when he threw the first punch, perfectly timed so it would not hit her, but his fist alone shattered the brick wall behind her, leaving a sizable hole. For a moment, she froze, leaving just enough time for him to retract his hand and fall back, away from the sharp edge of her sword.

"So that's a glimpse of your true power." She then chuckled darkly, sword dropping as she spoke. "Truly, you're weaker than I even thought. You have this- this power, yet you don't even bother to use it? It's true that without _us_ , you are nothing. A single, selfish _thing_ , not even human. So selfish you hide in your fear instead of stepping up to your destiny."

"I've said it once, and I've said it again." In the reflection of her armor, he saw his eyes glowing in determination. "I don't know what the hell you're talking about, but even if I did, I control my own destiny. I don't believe in fate."

"That's… that's rich, coming from _you._ " She tensed like she was going to laugh again, but instead her next words came out in a hiss. "Jesus, Dick. You haven't changed at all. Still exactly the entitled brat you used to be."

He froze… the puzzle pieces finally fitting together as the words struck a chord in his memory.

"Kat?"

Her eyes widened, and almost instantly she was on the roof, running.

"Kat!" He reached out, but without his grapple… For what seemed like forever, he just stood there, fists clenching as his stomach sank.

 _Kat, why?_ The questions just kept coming, swirling in his mind like a torrential, unrelenting storm. _What did you get yourself into? What happened? Why did you attack me?_

Conflicted, sorrowful golden eyes stared at the sky.

 _What I am._

A moment later, he forced his features into a neutral expression, and calmly picked up his sunglasses from the ground. He took a moment to wipe off the dirt, and then put them on. Sighing, he shoved his hands in his pockets and began the long walk back to his team. Dick Grayson could be as upset about this as he wanted, but Robin, the leader and hero, had been away from his team for too long already. But still, it didn't stop the lingering thoughts.

 _She was still my friend. She still is._

His shoes had never felt so heavy as he walked.

In the shadows, a single eye, hidden behind a black and orange mask, narrowed.

* * *

"Interesting."

"You foolish girl, you allowed your emotions to control you!"

Katherine swallowed, trying not to shake as she fell to one knee.

"Master, I am sorry. I didn't expect-"

"No excuses." The stone cold words sent a shiver down her spine. "This is why you weren't chosen as the Talon. You were reckless and irresponsible. You have trained for years, only to falter!" She flinched. "However…" The voice grew calm. "You were closer to apprehending him than the others… You will not face severe punishment, but strict training for two weeks, and when you are not training you are confined to your room. It begins now."

She stumbled upward. "T-Thank you sir, I won't disappoint-"

"No, you won't." The eyes, colder than ice, froze her tongue. "I will not tolerate a second disappointment. If you fail… you will meet the same fate as the others. Understood?"

She swallowed. "Yes, sir… Master."

"Good. Now go."


End file.
